Chapter 104 Preparations

I closed the door, locked it, and spread the folder on the battered table. Assessor’s face stared up at me from the top sheet, slick hair, precise jaw, a smile that meant someone else would do the dirty work for him. Fucking telepaths. The rest of the pages were a map of his life: movement logs, psychic traces, a roster of friends and handlers with threat ratings scribbled in the margins. Mrs. Mind had given me everything she thought I needed. It felt obscene to have so much of a man on paper.

Bunny’s speakers crackled. “How did it go?”

“Assessor betrayed the group,” I said. “Now I’m supposed to kill him. Fun.”

On paper, it read like a professional hit: clean lines, objectives, and contingencies. In reality, I knew the job wouldn’t be that neat. Assessor wasn’t stupid; he wouldn’t put himself in a corner without some backup. He probably has telepaths in his pocket, maybe a phalanx of hired muscle, and a vanity loud enough to attract trouble. This was Monarchy we were talking about. Even so, it shouldn’t be that… hard. I could slip out of most places, and I should be able to deal with him easily.

“So what are Lovelies and Thirdhand for?” I asked out loud, though I already knew the answer. Lovelies would be spectacle and manipulation; Thirdhand, the dirty force. Signal and blunt instrument. Mrs. Mind wanted a message, and spectacle needed corroborating power.

“You bringing me?” Bunny asked.

“Of course,” I said. “We’ll test your invisibility and teleportation for real this time. And about that third button… any clue?”

“None. Self-destruct is a safe bet. I’m working on it.”

Onyx materialized over the back of the couch like. Silver sat prim and watchful on the armrest, the slow, steady pulse of her concern a constant undercurrent. The two of them felt more real to me than most people I’d ever known, and I was slowly coming to accept them more easily in my life..

“So what’s the plan exactly?” Onyx asked. “I’ve seen the file and the plan on how to get this Ass-essor, but what’s your plan?”

“We’ve got three days,” I said. “Three days to read, plan, and stage. I’ll need Dr. Sequence to finish a little piece of tech I ordered… some kind of navigation assistance for me that ought to make killing easier.”

Silver’s voice threaded through me. “Mrs. Mind is using you as bait, Nick. You realize that. She wants the optics. If the Assessor tries to flee, or if the Monarchy shows up, you’ll be the headline. Is this… are you sure?”

“I’ll be fine,” I said. It wasn’t a comforting sentence, but it was the one I could offer.

Onyx snorted. “You better be. If you die, we’d end up dead!”

Yeah, yeah, copy that…

When I was finally satisfied with my reading, the files tucked neatly back into their folder, I turned my focus on Bunny. Before we fully commit to this job, Bunny was due for an upgrade. I’d need a bit of his instructions on how to do it, though, since I didn’t even know where to begin or how to install the several pieces of tech I’ve acquired for him.

“Okay, boss,” he said, “first step, pull out the old rifle mount. We’re replacing that.”

I crouched over the little pile of stolen tech scattered across the floor, wires like veins, screws like teeth. “You’re sure this fits?” I asked, eyeing the energy rifle we’d gotten from Dr. Sequence. It looked like a heavy-duty carbine straight out of a bad sci-fi flick.

“Trust me,” Bunny said. “I ran the specs.”

I followed his instructions step by step. I wasn’t an engineer, and phasing through vault walls didn’t teach you how to calibrate recoil dampeners. He had to stop me twice before I cross-wired a capacitor… or something. My fingers were stiff and greasy from the work, but there was a rhythm to it, a satisfaction in assembling a machinery of death one piece at a time.

We added more than just the rifle. Nitro injectors for sudden bursts of speed. A single-use, remote-controlled missile the size of my forearm. Even a grappling hook in the front. Because why not? If you’re going to be a nightmare, you might as well be a stylish nightmare.

It took almost two days to finish. By the time we were done, Bunny was sitting in his dock with a fresh coat of matte black paint I’d sprayed on myself. He looked like a predatory insect now, sleek, silent, and hungry.

Onyx tilted her head at him, lounging on the armrest of the sofa like a queen. “Now that’s my color,” she purred. “Jealous now?”

Silver rolled her eyes. “There’s nothing to be jealous about, dummy.”

I stood back, wiping my hands on a rag, and allowed myself a small smile. “Looks good,” I said.

And then, suddenly, a man in a leather jacket and a glossy helmet appeared in the middle of my room.

Onyx bolted upright. “What the fuck?”

Silver’s voice sharpened. “That almost gave me a jumpscare.”

“Bunny,” I said, “is this your doing?”

Bunny’s voice came through, amused and proud. “Yeah, ladies and gents, welcome Courier 2.0, made of hologram technology! I managed to fiddle with the invisibility settings and programmed software to create this projection. If we had a hardlight projector, it would be perfect.”

The hologram gave a polite nod, like some obedient soldier.

I grinned under my breath. “We’re definitely getting one after this job.”

For a moment, though, my gaze drifted to Silver and Onyx. They stood there, still flickers in my periphery, beautiful, and dangerous ghosts bound to me. If Bunny could have a body… maybe they could, too. The thought lingered, dangerous and tempting.

The elevator speaker crackled to life, breaking the moment. “Eclipse,” Dr. Sequence’s voice rasped, “your order’s ready. Pick it up when you can.”

I reached for the comm beside the elevator, thumb pressing the button. “I’m coming,” I said, already turning toward the elevator.

The elevator doors slid open with a sterile hiss, revealing Dr. Sequence’s lab. The ninth floor smelled like melted plastic, ozone, and madness bottled into a confined space. I stayed exactly where I was, one foot over the threshold, because claustrophobia hit me like a sucker punch.

The room was alive. Machines hummed, vats bubbled, sparks jumped from one tesla coil to another, and clones, dozens of them, moved about with eerie precision. Each wore the same face, same unblinking eyes, same lab coat, and same faint smile that made you wonder which one was the real Dr. Sequence, or if there even was one anymore.

“Sorry about the mess,” one of them said from behind a stack of metal crates. “Stay right there.”

“Not a problem,” I muttered, gripping the elevator frame.

Hmmm… I guessed I have an idea, which was a clone and not, if I were to focus my empathic powers on them. The one with more complicated emotions was probably the real one among them, busying himself with some apparatus.

The Tenfold Keep was an architectural miracle in itself, but being here reminded me of its flaws. The walls were too close. Every door connected directly to someone’s quarters with a single elevator, like living in a warren built for paranoia. You couldn’t tell if a door led to a bathroom, a workshop, or another dimension. And privacy, with architecture like that? I guessed you have to be careful with who you invite to your floor.

Dr. Sequence peeled the cloth back with a little flourish as he pushed a trolley to me, revealing a mask, sleek, porcelain-smooth, bone-white with faint traces of blue sheen. Its surface caught the fluorescent light like water.

“Here it is,” the clone said. Then the real Dr. Sequence emerged from behind a tank of neon-blue liquid, wearing gloves smeared with oil and some other unidentifiable goo. “Custom order for Eclipse. Took me a while, but it’s finished.”

He gestured, and the clone handed the mask to me. It was light, unnaturally so, and when I turned it over, the inside gleamed with microscopic wiring, a neural mesh.

“Specs,” Sequence said, pulling down his goggles. “One: x-ray vision, adjustable intensity. Two: enhanced spatial perception, works like echolocation if you focus. Three: adaptive fit… It will mold to your facial structure and attach seamlessly when worn. Four: holographic projection technology capable of generating fake faces or disguises.”

“That’s… a lot,” I said, rotating the mask in my hands.

“Oh, we’re not done,” he went on, voice quick and proud. “Five: full digital interface. Internet access, comm connectivity, and a media player with surround-sound capability. You can listen to music while disemboweling your enemies, if you’re into multitasking.”

I stared at him. “…You really think of everything, huh?”

He grinned, teeth too white. “That’s why they keep me around.”

“The discount still applies?” I asked. “Newbie discount?”

Dr. Sequence nodded, cleaning his gloves with a rag that was already stained black. “Yes, and I will be expecting you to pay me in full after your job with Assessor. Mrs. Mind is rather generous in her payment. Do a good job, and you’ll earn lots.”

“Right.” I gave a half-smile and tucked the mask under my arm. “Thanks for the mask.”

The elevator doors slid shut behind me with a mechanical sigh, sealing away the sterile hum of the lab. I pressed the button for the fifth floor and the third floor, respectively, the floors of Thirdhand and Lovelies. The soft glow of the control panel reflected against the porcelain mask, catching in its hollow eyes.

The elevator hummed downward, then abruptly stopped at the eighth floor. The doors opened, and Paleman stepped in.

He was still pale as ever, white as hospital walls, with eyes that didn’t blink long enough to be human. He pressed the button for the first floor and didn’t say a word. His silence wasn’t awkward; it was the kind that filled the air like static, heavy and thoughtful.

We stopped again on the seventh floor.

Dullahan stood there, helmet in one arm, jacket half-zipped, her other hand dragging her motorcycle inside. The elevator was wide, but with her bike, it felt cramped. I stepped back against the wall to make room.

“Going anywhere?” I asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Just making small talk.”

She ignored that, pressed for the first floor, and leaned against her bike. The smell of oil and metal lingered around her.

The elevator descended, but when it reached the fifth floor, it jolted to a stop. The panel flickered red, and the doors stayed sealed. A voice flared from the speakers, tinged with impatience.

“What do you want?” Thirdhand’s tone was flat and suspicious.

“It’s me, Eclipse. I want to talk about the job.”

A pause. Then a tired exhale. “At least you’re doing your job. Fine, fine, I’ll come. Thirty minutes?”

“Yeah. My floor.”

“Alright.”

The intercom clicked off, and the elevator resumed its descent to the third floor, where the doors opened to a burst of perfume and the faint thrum of music. A shriek followed. “Who the fuck wanna fucking see me!? I am doing self-care, asshole—”

“It’s me,” I interrupted. “Eclipse. My floor. Thirty minutes.”

A long groan echoed back. “Ugh. Fine. You better not make me regret this.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Dullahan added. “Maybe, make sure that your door stays locked if you don’t want to be disturbed.”

“Whatever,” said Lovelies as the elevator doors closed.

I pressed for the fourth floor, thinking of checking the Assessor’s old floor. The elevator dropped again, gliding toward the first floor. Paleman exhaled quietly, and I felt his Empathy brushing against my mind, like warmth spreading under cold skin. “Confidence.” A wordless transmission that I could do it. That I would do it.

Dullahan, on the other hand, didn’t spare me a glance. She just stared at the door, knuckles drumming against her bike handle. When the elevator doors finally opened to the ground floor, the two stepped out without a word. I remained inside, waiting for the elevator to climb back to the fourth floor.

“Well,” Onyx said, crossing her arms. “You really know how to operate smoothly.”

Silver chuckled softly. “Careful, Onyx. I think Nick doesn’t appreciate sarcasm.”

I snorted. “Don’t. Please, just don’t…”

The fourth floor looked like someone had staged a man for a catalogue photo shoot. Pale walls, a single modular desk, a bank of mirrors, and a dozen framed self-portraits with Assessor’s face at every angle. No bed. No plates. No clutter, that said a human slept here. Just polished surfaces and an obsessive neatness that made my teeth ache.

Onyx hovered at my shoulder, making a show of peering into a mirror and puckering like she was taking a selfie. “Oh my god, the narcissism. It’s adorable.”

Silver was quieter, arms folded as she scanned the room. “He’s a neat-freak.”

I walked the perimeter and checked the computer on the desk. Screensaver blinked, no recent activity. No incriminating files, no quick notes, nothing.

“Clean,” I said. “Too clean.”

Onyx tapped a frame with a theatrical snort. “You can tell he irons his soul.”

I opened drawers. Perfectly organized cufflinks, a label printer, sealed envelopes with embossed initials. A closet with a row of suits hung like a uniform. Assessor liked his suits more than he liked anything; that much was obvious.

“We find anything?” Silver asked.

“Just a man in love with his reflection,” I said. “And a spotless desktop.”

We left the floor the way we came in. The elevator ride back to the sixth was boring. Compared to Assessor, my floor was a mess in comparison: a sofa with stains, tools on the table, Bunny humming at the TV like it was his favorite channel. Thirdhand and Lovelies were already there, occupying the sofa with all the casual menace they carried. Onyx and Silver slipped back into their familiar angles at the edge of my perception.

Lovelies leaned forward, eyes bright. “Interesting sidekick. So this is Courier? He’s cute…

Thirdhand didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Why do we even need this meeting? There’s already a plan.”

“There is,” I agreed. “We run a job, we leak the info, we bait the Monarchy into making a move. It’s provocation with a chase built in.” I tapped the file Mrs. Mind had given me, feeling the weight of her expectations in the paper.

“And they’ll come hard,” I continued. “Because we got history. The real question is… will Assessor be there?”

Lovelies’ laugh was oily. “Of course he will. Pride is a poor mask; he’ll wear it in public like a coat. You humiliated him. He wants blood on the record. He won’t miss a chance to make it about himself.”

“That is not enough,” I said. “If we’re going to spring a trap, I want certainty. I don’t want to stalk Assessor across three borders if he doesn’t show. This job is supposed to send a message. If he isn’t present for his own message, we would only end up wasting our energy.”

Thirdhand made a slow sound between a chuckle and a snort. “You want to scrap the plan.”

“Yes.” I met his eye. “We scrap it and make a new one, something that guarantees he’s exposed. Less theater, more leverage.”

Thirdhand stared at me like I’d suggested we eat our own shoelaces. “You’re an idiot. This is Mrs. Mind’s plan. She never fails at strategy. She orchestrates things… moves, countermoves, contingencies. You think she’d roll out a bait without ensuring that something bites?”

Lovelies nodded, folding her long fingers. “Listen to him. Mrs. Mind understands people. If she says Assessor will be there, he’ll be there. You cannot out-scheme the person who built the Nth Contract from the ground up.”

I could see their point. Mrs. Mind was clever and experienced. But my guts tightened at the idea of relying on other people’s perfect plans.

Unfortunately, the reason I was suggesting such a thing in the first place was for a different reason and not because I’m being a cynical know-it-all.